


can't complain about much these days (i believe we'll be okay)

by breezered



Series: there she goes (a little heartache) [3]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, dyeing hair is fluffy now, light-hearted amberprice, post Before the Storm, pre Life is Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezered/pseuds/breezered
Summary: You stand up and grab her hand. Her fingers weave through yours and you lead her to your room. Rachel kicks the door shut behind her.“We’re not making out,” she says, playful eyes the opposite of her stern tone, “after all the time I just spent on that hair, we are not messing it up.” You pout and back her up into the door. She bites her bottom lip as you take her hair out of its ponytail and tilt her chin up.“Maybe you just need to keep your hands to yourself,” you breathe, your lips ghosting over her cheekbone.“It’s cute when you try to take charge,” she whispers.





	can't complain about much these days (i believe we'll be okay)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Be Okay' by Oh Honey

The bathroom smells like chemicals. You look over at where Rachel is mixing up the dye, her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. You like her hair when it’s up, exposing the length of her neck. 

“You know, I can feel you staring at me, creep,” she says, looking over her shoulder and giving you a wink. 

“What can I say,” you say with a shrug, “it’s a nice view.” Rachel laughs at that, and she turns around with the bowl of dye in her hands. 

“Okay, sweet talker,” she says, “let’s get this over with before the chemicals go to your head.” 

You scoff. “I think I smoke enough weed that there’s no amount of chemical that can go to my head.” Rachel rolls her eyes and stands behind where you’re seated on a chair in front of the mirror. The two of you lock eyes for a second, small smiles on your lips, and then she’s pulling on the gloves and brushing the dye into your hair. 

“Did you hear about Victoria’s latest attempt to show me up?” Rachel says, and you shake your head. “Don’t move your head, dummy.”

“Sorry,” you say. “No, I don’t think you’ve told me yet.” 

“Well, we were in chemistry, which you know is probably one of my worst subjects,” Rachel starts. You do know that, that’s why you spend a few hours a week with Rachel doing her chemistry homework and tutoring her. “So I’m giving the answer to question fourteen, you remember that one?” 

“That was the question about using Avogadro’s constant for molar mass, right?” You remember that question, because Rachel pinned you on the floor of her bedroom and held you down until you stopped calling it ‘avocado’s constant’. Her legs had been bracketing your hips, and when you’d leaned up against her grip to kiss her, she’d smiled into your mouth impossibly soft. 

“Yeah,” Rachel confirms, “so I’m giving the answer we got, and then Victoria stands up, like we’re in the fucking nineteenth century, and she’s like: ‘Ms. Grant, I would like to contest that answer’.” 

You snort. “Contest?” 

“I know, right?” Rachel shakes her head. “So she gives her answer and literally goes to the board to write out her process.”

“God, I hate her,” you sigh. 

“She was obviously wrong, too,” Rachel says with a smirk, and you think she looks unfairly hot when she’s all vindictive. “It was _so_ funny. I thought her head was going to explode.” 

“I will never get bored of seeing Victoria Chase lose,” you say with a happy sigh. Rachel hums an agreement and leans down to brush a kiss against your cheek. “What was that for?” 

Rachel shrugs and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Because I can.” You blush and smile, and you hate how bashful she can make you feel with only a few words. 

“Get back to making me look like a badass,” you tease her, and she grins. 

“It’s cute how you think you’re in charge,” she says as she returns to your hair. 

The two of you fall into an easy silence, Rachel humming something under her breath as she works the dye into your hair. 

Your phone vibrates on the counter, and you lean over to grab it. 

“Who is it?” Rachel asks.

“Just Trevor,” you say, “he wants to know if he can pick up later.” You tap out a quick response. “I’m going to need to go and see Frank later. Do you want to get some dinner and stop by his trailer after?” 

“Sure,” Rachel says, “can we go to the Bean? Juliette was telling me they have a new caprese salad sandwich.” 

“What the fuck is a caprese salad sandwich?” 

“It’s caprese salad, but in a sandwich,” Rachel explains. 

“Okay, what’s a caprese salad?” 

Rachel sighs and gives you that fond little smile she has reserved for when she thinks you’re adorably small-town. “You know, it has fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil, usually some balsamic dressing?” 

“No lettuce?”

“No, it has basil.” 

You scrunch your nose up and Rachel rolls her eyes. “It’s not really a salad without lettuce.”

“What about pasta salad?” Rachel counters. “Or that potato salad you’re so obsessed with, even though it has approximately zero nutritional value.” 

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t disparage my eating habits if I stopped making fun of how you say the ‘L’ in ‘almond’,” you say. 

“Fine,” Rachel says, “but my point still stands.” 

You tilt your head back and look up at her. “Kiss and make up?” She smiles and leans down, slotting her lips to yours like Spider-Man and MJ. You take her bottom lip between your teeth and tug on it, and she sighs. Her tongue traces the seam of your lips, and as you part them to let her slip inside your mouth, something cold and gooey touches your cheek. 

“Oh shit,” Rachel says with a laugh, pulling back. 

You look in the mirror and see the splotch of blue dye on your face. “Fantastic,” you say, and Rachel hides a laugh behind her hand. 

“It really brings out your eyes?” She tries. 

“You suck, Amber,” you groan. 

“Oh, get over it,” she says, taking off her gloves and putting on a new pair for the next colour, “I’ve seen you wear a shirt with a spaghetti stain for like, three days straight.” 

“That’s because it was my favourite shirt,” you defend as she starts to apply the dye to your roots. 

“It’s called doing laundry,” Rachel sighs. “I can’t believe I like you.” 

“I _am_ pretty unbelievable,” you say with a sloppy wink. Rachel laughs and tosses her head back, her hair swishing and the metal of her earring caching the light. 

Your phone goes off again and you groan, opening the new message. 

“Trevor again?” Rachel asks.

“Frank,” you say, “he wants me to pick up and run a few deals for him.” 

“Tell him to fuck off, we’re getting sandwiches,” Rachel says. You grin and type out exactly that. 

You get a quick response. “Damn it,” you sigh. “Look, I’ve got to run this. How about we get the work done with first, and then we use our cut to buy those fancy fucking sandwiches you want?” Rachel sighs but nods, and you text Frank back. “Is this going to take much longer?”

“Jesus, you’re the one who wanted to do this today,” Rachel snaps back. You hold your hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Just a bit longer, I promise. Then we’ve got to get the colour to lift, and wash it.” 

“Okay,” you say, “let me tell Frank we’ll be a while. And Trevor, I think he mentioned something about hitting up the skate park.” 

“You should take your board,” Rachel suggests, and you pull a face. “I know, I know,” she continues before you can complain, “you haven’t skated in years and you’re not going to unless Satan himself comes up from hell to tell you to nosedive, but I really think a hobby would be good for you.” 

“I have hobbies,” you protests. 

“Weed isn’t a hobby,” Rachel says, “and neither are cigarettes.” 

“Like you don’t smoke,” you say. 

Rachel shrugs. “Never said I didn’t. But I have other interests.” She runs her fingers over your newly dyed roots once more, then she steps back and pulls off the gloves. “All done.” 

You look rough, your hair gooey from the dye and sticking out in weird ways. “Thanks.” Rachel nods and starts cleaning up. You think that’s part of the reason your mom doesn’t mind having Rachel over so much: she cleans up. It’s always a point of contention between the two of you. She’s always on your ass about cleaning up ‘right away’. Why does it matter if you clean up now, or in a few hours when you feel like it? 

“Okay, we should let it set for about thirty minutes, I think,” Rachel says once everything’s been put in the trash. “What do you want to do?” 

You stand up and grab her hand. Her fingers weave through yours and you lead her to your room. Rachel kicks the door shut behind her. 

“We’re not making out,” she says, playful eyes the opposite of her stern tone, “after all the time I just spent on that hair, we are _not_ messing it up.” You pout and back her up into the door. She bites her bottom lip as you take her hair out of its ponytail and tilt her chin up. 

“Maybe you just need to keep your hands to yourself,” you breathe, your lips ghosting over her cheekbone. 

“It’s cute when you try to take charge,” she whispers, but the whimper that escapes her lips when you nudge your nose against hers tells otherwise. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, and your fit your lips to hers. Her hands immediately slide under your shirt and press against your abdomen, sliding around your torso until she’s holding your waist. Your lean your forearm against the door above her head, your other hand sliding along her jaw to slip into her hair. 

Rachel kisses like fire, hot and wild. Her lips part and her tongue slips into your mouth, pressing heavy and warm against your own. Fingers dig into your skin, and you pull back enough to bite her bottom lip. Her hips buck forward against you, and you hear her moan when you press her harder into the door, slipping your leg between hers. 

“Smooth, Price,” she says through a laboured breath. You grin and press harder, scratching at her scalp with your blunt nails. 

Her hands slide to the front of your pants, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans quickly. 

“Hands off, Amber,” you growl, and Rachel’s lip sticks out in a pout. You roll your eyes and kiss it until she’s back to gasping into your mouth and rocking against your leg, her attempt to get in your pants forgotten for the moment. 

You drop to your knees in front of her and she grins, chest heaving with each breath. 

“If you get my thighs all colourful, Chloe Price, I’m going to kick your ass,” she says. You wink up at her and undo her pants. “Wait, wait,” she says, and you pause, trying very hard to not be distracted by the blue of her underwear, “turn some music on or something. Your mom could be home anytime.” 

You stand up and flip her off. “Everything’s a production.” You flip through your CDs until you find the one labeled ‘Summer 2010’. It’s a mix you made with Rachel over the summer, and you stick it in the stereo, turning up the volume. “This good enough for you, your majesty?” You turn and nearly fall over at the sight of Rachel naked on your bed. 

“Good enough,” she says, and she beckons you over. You trip over your feet and almost fall down trying to get to her. You pause at the foot of your bed, and Rachel props herself up on her elbows. “I’m sorry, are you going down on me or are we having a fucking staring contest?” 

“Jesus, chill out,” you say. You kneel between her legs and she sits up, leaning forward to give you one her rare soft kisses. 

“You’re my favourite person, Chloe Price,” she says, and you feel your heart beating against your ribs. 

“Uh, yeah, you too,” you answer. Then she’s lying back down and giving you an expectant look. You swallow back the words you can feel forming on the tip of your tongue, and start your trail of kisses at her knee. The music pours over you like the afternoon sun pours over Rachel, and you shake yourself out of it, turning all your concentration to the beautiful girl before you. 

-

You twist your hair up into the towel and exit the bathroom, walking back to your room where the music is still playing. Rachel is lying on your bed, fully clothed once again. That part is good for your sake, because it makes it much more challenging to focus on anything else when Rachel Amber is naked in your bedroom. 

She looks up from the book she’s flipping through and you shut the door. 

“Well?” She looks at you expectantly. You flip your head down and take off the towel, straightening up with a dramatic hair toss. A wide smile stretches across her face as she takes it in, and she leaps off the bed and launches herself at you with open arms. You grunt when she slams into you, knocking you off balance. Your arms wrap around her and the two of you start rocking back and forth. 

“So you like it?” You ask with a laugh. 

“You look hella badass,” she says, leaning back to grab your face and lay a sloppy kiss on you. “And _totally_ hot.” She kisses you again, and again, until the two of you are falling onto the mattress in a heap of tangled limbs and heavy breaths. 

“We have to go see Frank,” you gasp as she bites the skin at the base of your neck. 

“Fuck him,” Rachel says, “and fuck everyone else. The world can wait.” 

-

“Nice hair, kid,” Frank says in lieu of a greeting. He’s in his usual lawn chair outside his RV, Pompidou at his feet and a cigarette between his teeth. 

“Isn’t it?” Rachel says, reaching up and ruffling it. She’d refused to let you cover it up with your usual beanie, and you scowl at her. “She looks super hot, right?” 

Frank grunts. 

“We’ve got places to go, so can I just pick up and get going?” You say before Rachel can embarrass you any further. 

“What, no small talk?” Frank says, and you flip him off. “Fine, come on in.” 

“I’ll stay out here with Pompidou,” Rachel says, grabbing the dog toy off the ground and holding it out to the mutt. You pause on the steps and look at her, smiling and laughing with Pompidou, jumping around him and waving the toy around. 

“Let’s _go_ , Price!” Frank yells form inside the RV.

“Calm your shit, Frank!” You yell back. You climb inside and the door swings shut behind you. “Jesus, man, it smells like an asshole in here.” 

“Fuck you,” Frank says. He reaches into the cupboards and pulls out a box. You sit at the table and wait for him to sort his shit out, staring out the window at where Rachel is playing tug of war with Pompidou. She seems to be the only person aside from Frank who that dog doesn’t want to kill. 

“So, who am I selling to?” You ask, distracted by the way the setting sun shines off Rachel’s hair. 

“There’s a list somewhere around here,” Frank says, “I think it’s in the back.” You wait to see if he’s going to get it himself, but he just waves you away. 

“Lazy fuck,” you shoot at him as you pass by. 

The notebook is tucked away on the pantry shelf beside Frank’s bong. You grab it and toss it to him. 

“It’s mostly Blackwell kids,” Frank says, flipping through the pages. He finds the right one and hands it to you. “Copy that down, I don’t you fucking this up.” 

“I’ve been running jobs for you for a while and I haven’t fucked up yet,” you say, “have a little faith.”

“I can’t make money on faith,” he says. “Copy. It. Down.” 

“Jesus,” you sigh, ripping out a blank page from his notebook and copying down the list of names and amounts. 

“Your girl isn’t going to cause any problems, is she?” Frank grumbles. 

“Rachel?” You laugh. “First of all, she’s not my girl. Second of all, you _know_ she’s cool, so chill out.” You try not to let it show how much it bothers you to say she’s not yours, and you wish it didn’t bother you, but Rachel doesn’t belong to anyone or anything. She probably never will. 

“Can you chill out and stop biting my head off every two fucking seconds?” Frank snaps, and you hold your hands up, sitting back down. He finishes in silence, handing you a bag of measured drugs. “Are you picking anything up?” 

“I’ll see what my cut is for this first,” you say, and Frank sighs. 

“Fifteen.” 

“Thirty.”

“Fuck you. Fifteen.”

“Thirty.” 

“Jesus, Chloe,” Frank sighs. “Fine. I’ll give you twenty, but that’s it. If you want more, you can find your own damn supplier.” 

You hold out your hand and Frank shakes it. “Twenty it is.” 

“Get out of here,” he says, but you know Frank well enough to recognize the fond spark in his eyes. 

“I’ll see you around, Frank,” you say as you exit the RV. Rachel looks up from where she’s stroking Pompidou’s head. “Come on, let’s get going.” She gives the dog one more scratch between his ears, and then she’s standing up and grabbing your hand. You walk to your truck and hop in, Rachel lighting a cigarette and holding it out for you to take as you drive. 

“Where are we headed?” She asks, her hand warm on your thigh. 

“Blackwell,” you tell her, “but first, we’re getting you that fancy sandwich.” 

Rachel leans over and kisses your cheek, soft lips and jasmine perfume. “You’re the best.” 

You blush and focus on the road, Rachel’s head tucked into your shoulder and a cigarette between your lips. The sun is setting on your right, and the trees are lit up like fire, their leaves red and yellow for the fall. Rachel turns the radio on, and everything feels like it’s falling into place. 

-

 

**Author's Note:**

> I twisted canon to make it better, I hope. Your support on this series means so much, and I'm glad that there are enough of you out there to enjoy this with me :)


End file.
